


That's What Friends Are For

by casey270



Category: Isaac Carpenter (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy has the flu.  Isaac makes him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Friends Are For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittys_devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittys_devil/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Kittys Devil!

Not sleeping enough and not eating right are never a good combination, but they’re things Tommy’s learned to live with. The insomnia is something he can’t do anything about unless he wants to feel drugged out all the time, and he really fucking does try to eat right. He just forgets, and when he forgets for too long, it’s easier to pick up something quick than it is to make something nutritious. There aren’t exactly a lot of fast food drive thrus that serve healthy meals, even in California. Healthy food takes lots of time and a lot more trouble than Tommy usually wants to spend, thank you very much. It’s like some unwritten law of the universe or some shit. Taking care of yourself takes effort; more effort than Tommy’s ever wanted to give it. 

Besides, he’s always been healthy. Well, aside from the insomnia shit. And the not eating shit. And the being a hyperactive shit shit. It isn’t until they all come together to have one fucking huge dance party with the worst case of the flu he’s ever had that Tommy even thinks about what they could be doing to his body. 

He’s been in bed for two days straight, not sleeping, not eating, his mind going too fast to settle down and let him relax. He aches all over. His fever keeps going up and down. He feels like he has ice in his bones one minute and then he sweats so much his fucking sheets end up soaked. He tries to stay hydrated, but sometimes even getting up to grab a bottle of water is too much effort. 

He’s in the middle of a not-sleep doze that’s full of the most amazingly shit-tastic visions he’s ever had when his phone starts ringing. He can’t quite pull himself out of his daze enough to answer it, but as soon as the ringing stops, it starts all over again. He knows that ringtone, too. It’s Isaac calling. Somewhere at the back of his fogged mind, he remembers that he promised to go over to Isaac’s to work on some songs sometime this week. It’s a little something they’ve been trying to do on the side, and they’ve got a couple of really good ones that are almost _there_.

The third time his phone starts ringing, he manages to grab it and answer. Even though he recognized the ring, he’s still surprised to hear Isaac’s voice on the phone. “Tommy, dude, where are you? You’re, like, almost an hour late, and everyone’s waiting.”

And, shit, he fucking forgot all about the rehearsal they had scheduled. It’s not one of the big ones; Adam’s still in Europe, but Brian wanted to check sound levels for the next show. He really needs to pull his ass outta bed and get down there. He tries to tell Isaac that he’ll be on his way as soon as he can remember where he keeps his clothes and shit, but his voice comes out all raspy no matter how many times he tries to clear his throat. 

And maybe he whimpers a little over the pain that the throat clearing causes, because suddenly Isaac is all concerned about him, asking him why the hell he didn’t tell anyone he was sick, and how long he’s been like this. Hell, he’d usually feel all indignant about being treated like a little kid, but all he really wants now is for someone to come take care of him. Maybe he asks Isaac to come over, or maybe he just whines incoherently, he really doesn’t care. All he knows is that Isaac’s telling him he’ll be right there, and that makes Tommy feel so much better. He’s tired of being all alone and sick. If he’s gonna feel like shit, he wants someone there to give him some sympathy.

Tommy lets his phone drop onto the bed. He hopes like hell that it drops on the bed and not the floor, but he doesn’t have the energy to really care. He wants to rest for just a minute, forgetting in the blink of an eye that Isaac’s on his way. The muscle aches and stiff joints of his fever push everything else out of his mind.

He’s lost in a world of self pity, letting his mind drift from one hurt to the next, when he hears a soft knock on his bedroom door. Shit, he hadn’t heard anyone ring the bell, and he’s positive the front door had been locked. It takes him a few seconds to remember that some of his friends actually have keys to his apartment, but by that time, Isaac’s already walking into his room. “What the hell, Tommy? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Like really sick, sick?”

“‘m a big boy. I can take care of my own flu.” Tommy lets his eyes close again, because it’s like Isaac brought all the light and noise of the outside world in with him, and it’s just too much for Tommy to try and process right now.

Looking around at the rumpled state of Tommy’s room and Tommy himself, Isaac says, “Yeah, I can tell. More to the point, man, I can smell. When was the last time you cleaned up?”

“Don’t wanna,” Tommy answers, because he’s feeling the ornery side of being sick now. “Don’t feel like it. I’ll take care of it when I feel better.”

But Isaac’s on a mission, and he’s not about to give it up, or that’s how it seems to Tommy, anyway. “All you’re doing is breeding germs in here, Tommy. It’s not gonna help you get better to keep breathing in the same thing that made you sick in the first place.” 

Tommy’s not ready to admit that Isaac might be right, but he can see the logic in what he’s saying. Besides, that’s genuine concern in Isaac’s voice, and that makes him feel just a little bit better already. But it’s just too much trouble to clean things up and air things out. He hasn’t even trusted himself to be able to take a shower without passing out. He’s thought about it a few times, but even getting up to take a piss leaves him feeling light headed and shaky. Maybe making an effort might help him feel better, though.

When Isaac says, “I’m gonna go run a bath. Why don’t you start stripping down?” it doesn’t surprise Tommy at all. He and Isaac are on the same wavelength so often it would scare him if it didn’t make him feel so damn good. 

He tries to do what Isaac told him to do. He really fucking tries, but he can’t seem to make his body do anything. It’s just too hard to sit up to take his tee off, and too much work to raise his hips to slide his sleep pants down. He feels so pathetically weak and feeble, just like a newborn kitten, and he fucking hates cats! He’s still trying, though, when Isaac walks back in the room and gives him that sympathetic look before coming over and sitting next to him on the sweat soaked sheets like it isn’t the grossest thing he’s had to do all day. And when Isaac doesn’t even say anything about Tommy not being able to do something as simple as undress himself, Tommy finally gives up all pretense of having any part of this demon spawn flu under control. 

He lets Isaac strip his pants down without making a move to help him, knowing that his efforts would just get in the way and make more work for his friend in the long run. And when Isaac sits him up and holds him there with one arm, while pulling his shirt up with the other hand, Tommy just raises his arms as much as he can, like a sleepy toddler getting ready for bed. 

Somehow, Isaac manages to get him undressed and into the bathroom without jarring any of his already aching body parts, and Tommy can only marvel at how gentle and strong Isaac is, especially for a little guy. Hell, Isaac’s even smaller than Tommy, but all that drumming must be a good workout, because Isaac doesn’t seem to have any problem supporting most of Tommy’s weight as he helps him into the tub.

Sinking into the water, Tommy sighs as he discovers it’s just the right temperature to be comfortable: not too hot to irritate his already sensitive skin, not cool enough to set off another round of the shivering that’s been his almost constant companion for the last two days. He doesn’t know how Isaac managed to find the perfect balance, but he’s damn glad he did. 

Tommy’s feeling so relaxed and content in the perfectness of the water and the perfectness of having a friend like Isaac to take care of him and make him feel better that he thinks he might just be able to rest here for a little while. But then he hears Isaac telling him not to fall asleep in the water, and it brings him right back. “I’m gonna go change your sheets. Maybe air out the room a little. Stay awake and don’t drown while I’m gone, okay?” 

Seeing the worry behind the smile that Isaac uses to try and camouflage it, Tommy’s determined to do at least this much for himself. “Don’t worry. Not gonna die in my own goddamn tub in the next five minutes.” But Tommy thinks his eyes slipping closed before he even finishes saying it might take some of the conviction out of his words. 

Isaac doesn’t call him out for it though. Isaac doesn’t even call him out for acting like a baby one minute and a crotchety old man the next. All Isaac does is keep up a conversation the whole time he’s out of the room - a conversation that requires Tommy’s participation, making it impossible to doze off again. Tommy doesn’t know how Isaac comes up with some of the silly shit he asks, like why the hell would he care if Isaac puts a few drops of vanilla extract on the clean sheets that he’s apparently putting on the bed. And Tommy supposes that the fuzzy gray sleep pants with the tiny skulls are his favorites, but it’s not like he has to have them on to feel better or anything.

Just when Tommy’s at that blissful place where he’s starting to tune out the sound of Isaac’s voice and his answers are getting slower and further apart, Isaac’s back in the bathroom with him, like he knew that one more minute would have been one too many to leave Tommy unsupervised. Isaac picks up the washcloth that he’d laid out before, and lathers it up. Tommy tries to protest, because, really, he thinks he should be able to wash himself, even if he is sick, but Isaac just ignores him and goes about the business of washing off the layers of fever sweat that have been clinging to Tommy’s skin.

Tommy finds the drag and glide of the washcloth over his skin strangely soothing. Isaac doesn’t hesitate in making sure every inch of his body is clean, either. It’s the most personal thing anyone’s ever done for him or to him, but it’s done in a fucked up, non sexual but still completely sensual way that only Isaac could pull off. By the time Tommy’s standing on the bathroom rug while Isaac dries him off, he feels like he’s glowing or some shit. 

Maybe he does feel a little like he’s been rescued from the dungeons of doom and disease when he rests his head on Isaac’s shoulder on the way back to the bedroom, and maybe he does mumble something about Isaac being a chivalrous bastard, but he can alway blame it on the fever, right? 

His room doesn’t even feel like a sick room anymore. The window’s open just enough to chase away the sour smell of germs, and the slight, warm scent of vanilla that hits him when Isaac pulls the clean sheets back is enough to relax away the last of the tension Tommy was holding. Tommy can’t help but wonder how Isaac got to be so good at this caretaking shit, but he supposes it’s just part of who Isaac is.

He’s almost ragdoll limp as Isaac puts a fresh t shirt on him and pulls the soft fuzzy sleep pants on before pulling the covers up around him. His heart sinks when he sees Isaac walking towards the door of his room. He knows that the night still has a way to go, and the dark, lonely hours are always the worst when he’s sick. He can’t help the miserable, “Stay, please?” that comes out, anymore than he can help wishing that Isaac could always be here to take care of him when he needs it.

When Isaac comes back in, holding a bottle of aspirin in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Tommy breathes a sigh of relief. After he’s sure that Tommy's properly medicated and hydrated, Isaac strips down to his briefs and climbs in beside Tommy, saying, “Not going anywhere. I’m staying right here til morning. Gonna make sure you get better.”

Tommy snuggles in tight against Isaac, burying his face right up in the crook of Isaac’s neck where it’s soft and warm, and he can feel Isaac’s heartbeat. “You know you’re probably gonna get sick if you stay here.”

“Then you’ll just have to nurse me back to health, yeah?” Tommy loves the sleepy, husky sound of Isaac’s voice. It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been the longest two days of his life. Time always seems to crawl by when he’s sick, but just as his eyes are closing, he thinks that yeah, he would totally take care of Isaac if he needed it.


End file.
